


Unforgivable

by BlueNeutrino



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/pseuds/BlueNeutrino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened immediately after Bartemius Crouch Sr broke his son out of Azkaban.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Few Hours

It isn't long after they leave Azkaban that they arrive back at the house. Winky is waiting for them, and she helps Mr Crouch get the trembling figure in his arms upstairs. Crouch doesn't speak to her, but resolutely continues to look straight ahead. He seems stoic and in control, but inside his mind his whirling. What if they'd been seen? What if someone had realised what they'd done? He knows that it can't have happened, as otherwise they wouldn't have gotten this far, but doubts still plague his mind. He still doesn't know if he's done the right thing. He's left his wife, his _beloved_ wife, in that hellhole all for the sake of this pathetic _wretch_ he's dragging up the stairs. Even though he knows it's what she wanted he still can't forgive himself for leaving her there. He's terrified that the moment the cell door closed she realised what she'd let herself in for and changed her mind, and the thought that he'd walked away and left her there alone sickens him. He wants to be with her, to hold her, and find a way to make things better, to _fix_ everything. He'd do anything just to see her face again. But he can't even bring himself to look at the face of the body in his arms, because even though it's _Elizabeth's_ face he knows it's a lie. Everything about his son is a lie. Everything he thought he knew about the boy was just a façade, the result of an ongoing deception that let him get away with doing _unforgivable_ things, and Crouch doesn't know how he's managing to carry the boy _up_ the stairs rather than flinging him down them.

Once they reach the top the first thing to do is clean him up and get rid of the prison grime and dirt. Even as Crouch half carries and half drags the boy to the bathroom he feels the fragile body convulse as the polyjuice transformation begins to reverse. He doesn't want to watch it – he's already seen it one time too many this evening – but he feels the difference as the body he's trying to keep upright collapses to the ground and Crouch hauls him up again. He seems even thinner than before, and Crouch can feel the boy's ribs through his clothes as he leans against him. He doesn't seem able to walk on his own any more and his stick thin legs seem ready to collapse underneath him. Giving up on trying to keep him on his own feet, Crouch picks the boy up and carries him the final few steps to the bathroom, keeping his expression as devoid of emotion as possible.

Once inside Crouch begins to get his son out the clothes he's wearing and he wants to tell Winky to throw them away, but he _can't_ because they're Beth's clothes and he can't bring himself to throw away anything of hers. Not now, not even if it's tainted by this _monster_ he used to call a son. Winky starts to run the bath and steam billows off of the scalding hot water coming from the tap. Crouch continues to undress his son and the boy makes a slight movement as if in protest, but it's so weak and feeble it's hard to tell. Once the bath's ready Crouch lifts his son off of the bathroom floor and lowers him into the water. He feels the boy flinch as his skin touches the hot liquid, but he doesn't stop. Strangely, he almost feels satisfied that the temperature would cause a stinging pain on pale, weak flesh that hasn't seen daylight for months, but then he thinks how upset Beth would be if she knew how cruel he was being and lets a few more quarts of cold water run from the tap.

He picks up a bath sponge and wants to start scrubbing away at the dirt caking his son's body, but he's hesitant. The young Barty Crouch Jr seems almost skeletal, the shape of every bone in his body protruding from beneath the pale, stretched skin. His eyes are closed and his breathing laboured, and in that moment Crouch realises just how easy would be to push his head under the water and let him drown. He doubts he'd even have to hold him there: the boy seems so weak he wouldn't even be able to raise his head above the surface. But the moment the thought enters his head Crouch quickly banishes it with a feeling of self disgust. He could never do that to Beth. _Never._ But the desire to punish the little bastard for ruining _everything_ refuses to subside.

Even as he starts to scrub away at the dirt and filth he tries to be gentle, but his anger won't let him. He's lost everything: his reputation, his career, and most importantly his _wife,_ and it's all Bartemius Crouch Jr.'s fault. He doesn't want to think about why the boy did what he did; doesn't want to think about how he should maybe share some of the blame, because right now he doesn't care. He wants his son to suffer the way _he_ suffered, and it doesn't matter what Beth would think because Beth isn't here right now and it's all because of _him._ The rough sponge is unforgiving as it scrubs away at the taut, thin flesh, causing it to burn red where Crouch tries to brutally wash the dirt away, and even when the boy lets out a whimper Crouch doesn't stop. When he begins to clean his son's back he notices the scratch marks covering the boy's shoulders, and he grimaces as he realises they're self inflicted. Even just a few short months in Azkaban were enough to drive him to that, and a sense of horror grips Crouch as he wonders if that's what's going to happen to Beth too. He begins to scrub harshly again at his son's skin, as if by washing away the marks he can wash that thought out of his mind, and he doesn't care when the cuts begin to bleed.

When it comes to washing the boy's hair he finds the violent urge has faded. He can't bring himself to be rough as he starts to rinse the straw coloured locks. Instead he's meticulously gentle – this reminds him far too much of when he used to do this for Elizabeth, when she was too sick and weak to do it herself. Barty's hair is so like hers. It even has that same fine, brittle texture as Beth's had, diminished from its once golden thickness by the disease that was sapping her strength. Crouch can't help but remember back to before Barty's trial, thinking how much healthier he had looked then. He wants to be able to feel some sense of justice in the contrast, but all he feels is a hollow ache.

After he's finished Crouch lifts the thin body out of the now lukewarm water and the boy immediately begins to shiver. Crouch sends Winky to get some pyjamas while he wraps Barty in a towel, but that doesn't do anything to stop the violent shudders wracking the boy's body. Crouch touches his skin where the water has already begun to evaporate off and is shocked by how cold it is. He immediately wraps his son in another towel too, realising that if he didn't Barty could well slip into hypothermia.

When Winky returns she has an old pair of Barty's pyjamas. They were the only pair that had survived: following Barty's arrest Crouch had started trying to burn all of his son's possessions, but Beth had stopped him, screaming that she couldn't bear to lose all traces of him from the house. In the end Crouch had agreed out of love for his wife, but he'd ensured everything Barty owned was locked up in his bedroom out of sight, and Crouch would simply ignore that door every time he passed it in the hallway as if it didn't even exist.

As Crouch begins to try and dress Barty in the button-down pin-stripe pyjamas some of the boy's strength seems to return and he tries to twist away, his arms lashing out uncooperatively. Crouch is still stronger and he manages to force Barty's arms into the pyjama sleeves, but it's so, _so_ hard to be gentle when he just wants to crush the brittle body beneath him and punish him for what he's done. But he knows that he mustn't. It would take hardly any force at all to snap the boy's fragile bones, and Crouch is determined not to hurt him because _this is what Beth wanted._

Barty is muttering incoherent noises as Crouch tries to lift him to his feet and he feebly tries to push his father away, but when he refuses to stand Crouch picks him up off the floor and begins to carry him. He's so light it barely takes any effort. Barty gives a wordless shout of protest, but he's too weak to do anything else and he soon gives up trying to move at all, his head lolling against his father's shoulder and his breathing laboured and shallow.

Crouch carries him to his old bedroom; the room he's had since childhood, and the room neither of them have seen in months. Winky has prepared the bed and Crouch gently sets Barty down in it and tucks the blankets up to his chin, like he used to do when Barty was a child. A pang of sentimentality grips him and for the first time that evening he looks properly at his son's face, not trying to avoid it any longer. He's shocked to see the boy's eyes are open slightly, watching him. As he looks into them he feels all the white hot anger from earlier flare up again as he recognizes the expression in them: no gratitude, no remorse; just pure and utter contempt.

Crouch's hand ball into fists and it's so hard to refrain from just killing him there and then. He wouldn't even need magic to do it: the boy was so weak a blow to the head would finish him off.

But he can't do it. He knows he can't, even though preventing himself from lashing out in anger is using up all his self control.

Unable to take it any longer Crouch turns and exits the room, leaving Winky with that bastard he _would not_ call a son and with the boy's look of hate still burning in his mind.


	2. Later On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short while later.

An hour and a half and two glasses of firewhiskey later Crouch has calmed down somewhat. The anger seems to have died down and he thinks he'll be able hold it together. He _needs_ to go back upstairs and see Barty again. He owes it to Elizabeth: he needs to look after their son, like he promised. When he reaches the bedroom door he sees Winky sat by the bed, hovering over the frail figure of Barty Crouch Jr. Even though he appreciates what she's done, he doesn't want her here. "Winky," he says abruptly.

She turns to look at him, a nervous expression on her face.

"Leave us," he says.

She glances from his face back to Barty's, and then looks at him again, evidently worried about leaving Barty alone with him. "Master…"

"Leave," Crouch repeats.

Winky bows her head. "Yes, Master," she squeaks, and hurries out of the room.

Crouch closes the door behind her and then crosses over to the bed to look at his son. He lets out a heavy sigh as he realises the boy is sleeping, and sinks down in the chair beside the bed. He finds it strange how Barty can look so innocent like this, so vulnerable…it's hard to believe that this was the same man who helped torture two human beings into insanity.

The anger has faded now and Crouch is grateful for it. He isn't struggling to remain in control anymore, but instead there's an aching sadness that's come over him. He just wishes he could _understand._ He wishes he had a way to look into his son's mind and find out _why_ he'd done it. What had this all been for? What could possibly have meant so much to him that he was prepared to betray his own family for it?

Crouch sighs again and leans further forward to get a better look at his son's face. He looks so gaunt in the pale light filtering in through the window from the dull grey sky: sunken eyes and hollowed out cheeks, almost like a corpse. If it weren't for the shuddering movement of the boy's chest rising and falling slowly Crouch could well believe he was already dead. This was what Azkaban had done to him.

And Crouch had sent him there, like he'd sent so many other people. He'd always firmly believed that there hadn't been a man he'd sent down who hadn't thoroughly deserved it, but now seeing the result of being locked up with the Dementors close up he was beginning to wonder. Maybe a death sentence would have been kinder. He was certain his son was guilty, but he wished there could have been a way of having this over with quickly. He would have been dead after a few more weeks inside anyway, maybe it would have been better to spare him all this suffering…

Even as that train of thought begins to fill his head Crouch abruptly halts it. He knows Elizabeth wouldn't have been able to bear it: it would have killed her too. True, what _had_ happened was going to kill her anyway, but maybe there was _something_ good to come of this. Elizabeth had been dying anyway, and her dying wish had been that her son could live. He was at least able to give her that. Even amid his bouts of fury and urges to kill the boy in retribution Crouch knows he could never do it. He owes it to Elizabeth. He _has_ to keep his son's heart beating for as long as possible, because Bartemius Crouch Jr is _not_ going to have the luxury of dying at home with his father by his bedside while his mother suffers and dies alone in a cell in Azkaban. Even if he feels no remorse for anything else he's done, the boy is damn well going to live to face up to the fact that he's killed his own mother. It was his fault. And Crouch hopes he'll suffer for it.

Suddenly, Barty mutters something in his sleep and begins to toss and turn. Crouch realises he's dreaming: the kind of dreams brought on by Dementors. Barty seems to be fighting with the bed covers to break free but is too weak to manage, and his distressed moans get louder. Crouch is reminded of when Barty was six and used to get nightmares. He'd refused to go to sleep unless either his mother or father were watching over him, and Crouch can't help but think back to that now. Despite everything that's happened since, a faint echo of the fatherly tenderness he'd shown back then tries to manifest itself. He reaches out a hand to Barty's shoulder and gently but firmly pushes him back down on the bed, trying to keep him still. As Barty realises he's no longer able to move his eyes snap open and he looks directly at his father, suddenly becoming very still.

Crouch meets his son's gaze and is surprised to see the hatred that filled them earlier has vanished. In its place is a look of fear and anguish, and Crouch isn't quite sure what to do. He takes his hand away from Barty's shoulder and leans back in his chair, never breaking eye contact.

Barty tries to speak, but the effort it takes him is obvious as the words are dragged from his hoarse throat. "I didn't do it, father."

His tone is neither earnest nor desperate, just dead. For the first time since the trial Crouch feels a flicker of doubt about his son's guilt, but he quickly silences it. If Barty is innocent then Crouch is the one to blame for everything that's happened, and no matter how much of a coward it may make him he knows he can't handle that guilt. Better to believe that Barty is guilty and deserves this punishment, and even if it isn't true it makes no difference now.

Crouch chooses not to respond. He has nothing to say to the boy.

Barty watches him, waiting, and the longer the silence drags out the more irritated and resentful his expression becomes. "What do you want, a thank you?" he says bitterly, his voice sounding strangled and childish.

Crouch thinks that sentence ought to anger him, but strangely it doesn't. He knows Barty _wants_ him to react, but he won't give him the satisfaction. Barty isn't worth getting riled over and Crouch doesn't care whether the boy's grateful or not: he did this for _Elizabeth,_ not for him.

When once again he doesn't get a response Barty begins to cry. It's silent at first, the tears simply rolling down his cheeks, but then he begins to sob and shake in the bed and Crouch doesn't know what to do. He knows he shouldn't feel any pity: the boy committed an abhorrent crime and he deserves to suffer, but at the same time the noise is tearing at Crouch's heart because breaking down in tears is exactly what he _wants_ to do right now but he knows he _has_ to hold it all together. He tries his best not to react and simply looks on, seemingly unmoved, while his son cries.

Eventually, the tears die down and the pair of them are left staring at each other again. Again, Barty speaks, seemingly desperate to get some kind of reaction from his father. His tone seems more pleading and child-like than ever. "I want mother."

And that's what finally breaks him. Even though he knows he has every right to get angry, to make his son feel guilty and blame him for what happened, that sentence was just so _pathetic_ Crouch can't bring himself to do it. Instead, it's now his turn for the tears to begin to flow as he thinks of Elizabeth and realises that _he's never going to see her again._

He reaches out for Barty's bony hand that's resting on the bed covers and takes it in his own: not because he cares about the boy, but because he knows this is all of Elizabeth that he has left now. "So do I."

He feels Barty meekly try and grip onto his hand tighter, and even though he isn't doing it for the boy he doesn't try and pull away. When their eyes meet again Crouch at last sees something in Barty's gaze that makes his heart soften slightly: genuine remorse and regret. It really seems for a moment that Barty seems to be silently trying to say sorry, but then his eyes close again and his grip on Crouch's hand slackens, and Crouch realises he's gone back to sleep.

Crouch pulls his hand away from his son's and stands up. Despite that strange feeling that had come over him in the past few seconds he still knows it makes no difference. It doesn't matter how _sorry_ Barty is: he deserves all the punishment he gets. He'd be getting no pity from his father. What he did was _unforgivable._

And with that thought fixed firmly in his mind, Bartemius Crouch Sr. turns away from his son and strides out of the room.


	3. Six Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later.

_Six months later_

When the knock sounds on the door in the early hours of the morning his initial reaction is one of panic. He's scared they've finally worked out what he's done and have come to arrest him, but he knows he has to stay calm. There aren't many reasons he can think of for someone to be knocking on his door at this hour, but jumping to conclusions won't help him. If he acts nervous he'll only give himself away.

The first thing he does after getting out of bed and pulling on his dressing gown is to check Barty hasn't woken, which of course he hasn't – the sleeping potion he's under will keep him out for eight hours solid. As an extra precaution though Crouch locks his son's bedroom door and places a silencing charm on it before heading towards the staircase. Winky appears on the landing to ask rather sleepily whether she should go and answer the door, but he orders her to stay upstairs and make sure Barty doesn't wake up – even though Crouch knows that he won't.

The knock sounds insistently again before he manages to reach the door and opens it to look at the man standing outside in the chill morning air and dull pre-dawn light. "Brunwick?" Crouch says, not quite managing to hide his surprise at seeing his old work colleague on the doorstep. He hasn't seen any of the people he used to work with in months. Officially, he still has his job, but in practise he hasn't been doing it ever since Barty was sent to Azkaban. 'Compassionate leave' they called it, but really Crouch knows they're just trying to get rid of him. After all, how can a man with a Death Eater for a son remain head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement?

"Barty," the man answers rather warily, "There's been some…well, there's been a, um, _development_ in the situation regarding your son."

"What?" Crouch says curtly, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Brunwick looks apologetic. "Do you mind if I come in?" he asks and makes as if to enter the house, but Crouch moves to block his way.

"Whatever you have to say, Brunwick, you can say it right here," Crouch says in a tone that suggests he is merely annoyed at being woken at this hour in the morning, but underneath the façade fear and panic is still eating away at him. He's worried that maybe Brunwick is here to break the news that they've discovered something suspicious and want to ask him questions.

Brunwick looks reluctant. "Are you sure? This could be, well…it may be upsetting for you."

"Just spit it out, Brunwick," Crouch snaps.

Brunwick takes a deep breath and then speaks. "Your son's dead, Barty. He passed away about an hour ago."

A moment's silence passes in which the meaning of those words hit Crouch like a tidal wave. Elizabeth is gone. To the rest of the world she may have died months ago, but not to Crouch. The thought of her suffering alone in Azkaban had continued to haunt him long after they'd held that private funeral for her. And now she was finally gone.

He's too stunned to know how to react. Not that this had been unexpected, but knowing it was coming did nothing to lessen the shock of it. Part of him wants to cry, but he knows he can't do that with Brunwick still standing on the doorstep. "Is that all?" he says brusquely.

"Um…yes," Brunwick replies, slightly confused by Crouch's reaction. "Did you want to see him? Or have the body brought back here for his funeral?"

"No," Crouch says immediately. He _does_ want Elizabeth brought back here, just so he can see her one last time, and he _wants_ give her a proper burial, but he knows that if they leave it too long the polyjuice potion will wear off. "Just bury him there as soon as possible. This morning, if you can."

Brunwick looks bewildered. "Barty, I know he deserved to be in there, but still…don't you think you should at least give your son a proper funeral?"

"He's not my son," Crouch says bluntly, as if that's the end of the matter. "Is that all you wanted to tell me, Brunwick?"

Brunwick nods, still looking shocked at Crouch's reaction. "Yes, that's all."

"Good. In that case I think I'll go back to bed," Crouch says, shutting the door on the stunned Brunwick's face.

Crouch turns away from the door to head back upstairs. He's still in emotional turmoil, but part of him can't help but feel relieved: relieved that Elizabeth isn't suffering anymore, and relieved that he hasn't been found out.

He knows though that the hardest part is yet to come: he has to tell Barty. Even though he doesn't want to talk to Barty at all about anything – let alone about Elizabeth – she was still his mother and he has a right to know. He thinks he may as well do it now, and after checking out of the window to make sure Brunwick has actually gone he heads back to Barty's room. Winky is stood outside waiting for him, and she looks up at him with wide eyes. "Is it true, sir? Is Mistress really dead?"

He glares at her. "Were you listening?"

She looks terrified and stares at the floor. "Yes, sir," she squeaks.

Even though she was eavesdropping, he can't bring himself to be mad at her. "Yes, Winky, it's true."

"Oh, Master, no!" she wails, bursting into tears and burying her head in her hands.

Crouch grits his teeth. "Winky, if you're going to cry please go and do it somewhere else. I can't be dealing with this now."

She glances up at him with those large orb-like eyes and then runs off down the corridor back to her cupboard, still sobbing.

He turns back to the bedroom door and unlocks it to go inside. Barty's still asleep, as expected, and Crouch knows he'll have to use magic to wake him. No point waiting until morning.

Crouch sits down beside the bed and takes out his wand. He points it at Barty's chest and mutters " _Enervate._ "

The boy slowly begins to blink his eyes open and looks around him. He seems confused for a few moments, and then, suddenly realising where he is, he sits bolt upright and tries to get out of bed. Crouch grabs his arms firmly and forces him back down. The boy's a lot stronger than he was six months ago, but still not strong enough to succeed in fighting off his father. Realising there's no point in trying he stops fighting and goes still. "What, no Imperius Curse today?" he sneers.

Crouch looks at him. "No, not right now. But I think you ought to stay right where you are and listen to what I have to say."

Barty continues to lie motionless on the bed. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling and not on his father. "What could you possibly have to say to me that I'd be interested in hearing?"

"It's about your mother," Crouch says, and at that Barty finally turns his head to look at him. The boy doesn't speak, but Crouch can tell he's listening. There's a look in Barty's eyes that suggests he already knows what Crouch is going to say before he says it. "She died this morning."

There's no change in Barty's expression and he remains silent for a few more moments, but then turns his head to stare at the ceiling again before deciding to speak. "You wish it were true, don't you?"

Crouch is confused. "Wish what were true?"

"What they're going to print in the _Prophet_ later on. That I'd died." He turns his head to look at his father again, but Crouch can't meet his gaze and looks down at the floor. In all honesty, he doesn't know if that's true or not. All he wishes for is that it had never come to this: that Elizabeth could still be alive and that Barty hadn't done what he'd done and that nothing had ever gone wrong. But it hadn't worked out like that, and even though he often feels like he wishes Barty were dead he's never sure that he actually means it.

He's trying to make sense of his thoughts when Barty speaks again. "Why don't you kill me?"

Crouch looks up at him again, his eyes flashing angrily. To ask if he wants him dead is one thing, but to ask why he doesn't actually do it himself…Does Barty really think he's that much of a monster? That much like him? "What?"

"Well, why don't you?" Barty says, his tone challenging. "You're already using one Unforgivable Curse on me per day, what would it hurt you to use one more?"

Crouch suddenly gets to his feet and stands over Barty, gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles have gone white. He wants to yell at the boy for daring to be so ungrateful. How can he be so nonchalant about his life when his parents have sacrificed so much to keep him alive? Does he really wish to die that badly?

Crouch's eyes flash in anger and for a moment it looks like he might actually do what the boy suggested. He sees Barty shrink back into the bed slightly but the look in the boy's eyes doesn't change; still challenging, still contemptuous, still…accepting. Almost as if he _wants_ Crouch to do it. And, Crouch realises, maybe he does. Maybe he thinks that if he dies now he won't have to face up to the consequences of what he's done. Face up to the fact his mother is dead.

Crouch lowers his wand, and he notices Barty's eyes flicker down to where his wand is held by his side and then back up to his face. The boy doesn't say anything, but he looks nervous.

"Your mother died so that you could live," Crouch says, his voice sounding dead. "I hope you're grateful for that."

Barty looks at him, still refusing to speak, but Crouch thinks his eyes seem slightly moist as if he might be about to cry. But then he blinks the tears away and lies back on the bed, rolling onto his side to face away from his father.

Crouch sighs and raises his wand again. He doesn't want to have to deal with this. He can't handle trying to force Barty to face up to what he's done, because really he knows it'll do no good. Nothing's changed. The boy didn't show any kind of remorse while his mother was still alive, and he won't show any now that she's dead. Crouch points his wand at the back of the figure lying on the bed. " _Imperio._ "

He doesn't see the glistening eyes wide open waiting for him to say it, and doesn't know how welcome the numbness is when it comes. 


End file.
